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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27118618">Two Delta</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Volantis/pseuds/Volantis'>Volantis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A couple uses of profanity, Antivenin delivered on time, Canon-Typical Violence, Fear of Death, Gen, Hallucinations, No herbs/first aid spray, Post Yawn Encounter, Realistic medicine and treatment, Scenario: Chris, Serious Injuries, Spencer Mansion Incident</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:55:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,484</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27118618</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Volantis/pseuds/Volantis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He couldn't manage to focus on any one spot in the hall, feeling overstimulated in all of his senses - Rebecca's voice wavering just off the fringe of perception now, but she sounded scared.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Two Delta</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Somewhat canon-divergent, as I headcanon RE:0 as an event carried out by Enrico instead. Having Rebecca endure it just causes too many silly time and continuity issues. This fic's foundation is: Bravo Team escape their crash site and flee the discovered military transport after becoming separated by the cerberus. Enrico finds the train, and during the course of the evening, into the next day, winds up at the mansion. The remainder of Bravo access the Spencer Mansion at various entrances. Rebecca escapes several undead only to barricade herself inside the chem storage room (no awkward napping; she's inside, terrified), where she's later found and freed by Richard. The two remain together, like in RE: The Umbrella Chronicles, but less campyness. Additionally, it's always felt unreasonable to me that Bravo's helicopter crash and radio silence is handwaved, as Alpha Team inexplicably has zero check-ins with them, and then wait 24 hours to deploy. Instead, they deploy to search for Bravo eight hours later, following two failed hails from dispatch and reports by Park Services of black smoke in the Arklay search perimeter.<br/>Thank you for reading! ' U '</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Just as quickly as he'd appeared, Chris was gone. The rotted door hinges still rattling after him.</p><p>Luck and hope seemed absent in this abhorrent place, but as Redfield's hurried bootsteps faded away, Richard prayed the man was carrying enough of his own to help them see the other side of this nightmare.  </p><p>Rebecca's back was turned while she rifled urgently through her pack, some scattered items littering the floor around her boots. She was still chasing her breath, her short hair stuck flat against the back of her neck, wet with sweat and blood. <br/>She was muttering to herself, faint, but distinctly chastising. Richard was having a hard time hearing her though. His frantic heartbeat pounding away in his ears, nearly overshadowed by his laboured and rasping breath. Leaning back heavily against the long decayed wood paneling, he watched himself bleed into the dirty carpet. Agony clung to every inch of him, skin practically alight, riddled with wood fragments and shards of glass that shifted with every shudder, peppering every tear and puncture. Each mouthful of the humid, musty, air ushered in fits of coughing, but he fought for as much of it as he could get. </p><p>Everything felt heavy. The painful pressure at his temples building and tightening behind his eyes.  </p><p>
  <em>'What the hell just happened?'</em>
</p><p>He couldn't manage to focus on any one spot in the hall, feeling overstimulated in all of his senses - Rebecca's voice wavering just off the fringe of perception now, but she sounded scared. Her hands were working, blurring into doubles and triples with the swirling shapes in the peeling wallpaper. </p><p>"What- what just happened?" spoke a ragged, pitiful, voice. Richard wasn't sure it was his. </p><p>"Becca," Richard hissed out from between tight, chattering, teeth. "We gotta- come on, we have to go." His right hand searched along the floor at his side before finding the still-warm metal of a barrel under calloused fingertips. Gripping the shotgun at the muzzle, he dragged it closer until it pressed against his leg.</p><p>A small, bloodied, hand landed flat against his sternum and he was stilled.</p><p><strong>"Sit back." </strong>Rebecca ordered, stern and clear. "Please. Just...just sit back. I need you here, Richard."</p><p>She was leaning over him now, looking down. The gauzy yellow lamp light at her back creating hazy rings across his vision that hid her face. </p><p>Through the mud and fog, a fierce tightening grip took hold of Richard's left bicep like a vice, and he nearly bit his tongue gritting his teeth to restrain a scream. Agonized groans poured past his lips for several long seconds, until the pounding pulse in his left hand began to recede, and only a creeping numbness remained. Rolling his head to the left, he caught sight of a strip of bright safety-orange. The strap's webbed texture soiled in smears of dark red.    <br/>Then there it was again - her voice. Rebecca. Right. Rebecca was here with him. He thought so anyway. Up, through the growing mire of pain and panic, Richard thought he heard her...</p><p>
  <em>'...are you here?' </em>
</p><p>
  <em>'...was she asking...<strong>"are you here?"  </strong>Am I not? Where...'   </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Fighting to reorient himself against the smothering fear and confusion, Richard very suddenly remembered gaping rictus jaws, filled with teeth. Brittle boards enrobed in decades of abandoned cobwebs. Woven fibers sodden in clots. <br/>His eyes squeezed shut. Pressure rising through a tightening chest - pushing down, and down, shortening every next breath. Heat that boiled and bloomed at both temples, seething down the back of his neck through every vertebrae, met by waves of trailing chills. Sweat dripped off his eyelashes onto his t-shirt, long soaked through and clinging too tightly to his skin, as a climbing nausea worked like thick fingers up the back of his tongue, and pushed.</p><p> </p><p>"Richard, look at me. <strong>Look at me. </strong><em>Slow down</em>."   </p><p> </p><p>Leaning his head, Richard tried to hear Rebecca as she called to him from a distance, somewhere far beyond the dim hallway, and splashes of rainbow light burst across the black before him. Abstract aspects just wavering in space, growing and shrinking as they lazily began to merge and take shape. He felt suspended in a waking dream, surrounded by pieces of memories born out of chaotic fragments, spinning themselves into a believable fluid-like reality. Strings of black ichor oozing at the edges of a thousand heated blades seated in a hanging maw. Burning golden eyes framed in boil laden scales, slicked in an oily sheen. Withering floorboards groaning under a massive swollen body. The vile thing taking shape, shed it's shadows as it twisted and convulsed, rearing back- </p><p>
  <strong>"Richard."</strong>
</p><p>Richard's bloodshot eyes snapped open, and the leering tarry aboleth disappearing in the warm, dancing, light of a flickering yellow flame. Rebecca's face hovering near as she held the small lighter. </p><p>"Look into the flame, Richard. Focus for me. Just- just watch the flame," she whispered, low and comforting. The gentle weight of one of her hands resting over his knee. Richard studied the shape of the weathered brass lighter, continually blinking away tears gathering at the edge of his eyes, letting himself become entranced by the steady shiver of the light. Steadily, his breathing began to slow.    </p><p>A powerful desperation took hold, snagging every third breath in a ugly hitch. Such a hungry need to covet the tiny light's withering comfort momentarily became everything Richard knew. But it couldn't last against the curiosity of his gaze, lurking left and right, determined to understand what was happening. Licking his dried lips, Richard tasted an iron tang, and the blood on his tongue offered him a fleeting, fragile lucidity.</p><p>He'd kept Rebecca safe. Like he'd promised.</p><p>Richard's icy blue eyes searched for the medic's reassuring face, but only found her back, tracing the red cross stitched into her vest; the material dark and smeared in grime. Rebecca twisted, and Richard let his head fall against his shoulder as he watched her quickly move on her knees to sit at his right side, catching an unsteady glimpse as she laid strips of tape over the IV access at the inset of his elbow - the 'AC' she always calls it. He stared at the small orange hub and curled tubing as she attempted to secure it; he hadn't even felt her place the line.  </p><p>One long blink and suddenly the edges of everything looked...wrong. Glassy. Moments flipping by like slides stuttering mechanically into view. </p><p><em>"Shit,"</em>  Rebecca spat, her brow furrowed and features all scrunched up. Sweat was dripping from her bangs. One of her small hands was pressing heavily onto Richard's arm as she tore open a roll of kerlix with her teeth. <br/>Eyes only half open, Richard looked down at the small plastic caps and discarded glass ampoules at her knees. He slowly smiled. <br/>He's never heard her curse before. </p><p>Rebecca finally stilled, puffing out an exasperated breath through pursed lips, before angling a strange expression at him. </p><p>"Richard."</p><p>"You said a bad word," Richard wheezed out between the weak sounds of smothered huffing - he was laughing. Some of the stiffness in Rebecca's frame melted back, and though the concern never left her face, she managed to offer him a thin smile.   </p><p>Another slow, gummy, blink stole away a handful of seconds, and Richard felt tired. Heavy and tired and... <br/>"Chris will be back soon," Rebecca said in small voice, tucking her chin down close to her chest. Richard wondered if the words hadn't been meant for him at all. "He'll be back."</p><p>A small hand ran back through his short hair.</p><p> </p><p>Richard never heard the door open. </p><p>Submerged sounds of urgent voices chirping back and forth forced in through the haze, as four blurry hands took shape. A momentary bite of heat snapped into Richard's right arm and crawled up over his collar, warming quickly in his chest. Eyes fluttering open caused lines of tears to run down the worn routes over his dirty face, and he tasted them at the edge of his lips. There was an eerie, creeping, sense drawing over as he swept his gaze down and watched a boot kick away a syringe. A tourniquet lay shorn and crumpled by his thigh, stained through and robbed of it's once brilliant orange. The matted textures of the flooring were jittering. Muted thudding sending vibrations through the rumpled carpeting - brown and tarnished, zig-zag patterned, pulled up and frayed. Blood thickening every thread. </p><p>Was this really it? Right here. On this fucking carpet... <br/><br/><em>'No... '</em><br/>              <em> '...I'm not ready.'</em></p><p>
  <strong>"I'm not ready."</strong>
</p><p><br/>A strong pair of hands grasped his own in a confident grip that gave a comforting squeeze, hiding the shivering just below the surface. The warmth of a bounding pulse thrummed strongly across Richard's cold, clammy, palm. </p><p>"For what, Richie?" replied a deep and gentle voice. "You're not going anywhere."</p><p>Chris's concerned blue eyes came into focus through Richard's glazed vision.</p><p> </p><p><em>"We've got you."</em><br/> </p><p> </p>
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